


All Alone

by Awesome_Fangirl33



Category: The Thundermans
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Character Death, Gen, Graphic Description of Corpses, Horror, Medical Procedures, Psychological Trauma, Shock, Suicide, Tears, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:09:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24728749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awesome_Fangirl33/pseuds/Awesome_Fangirl33
Summary: Today was going to be a normal day at Hiddenville!Until it wasn't.OrIn which Max Thunderman deals with loss and grief with no one to support him.
Relationships: Max Thunderman & Phoebe Thunderman, No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 48





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! So, I know I'm pretty much writing for a dead fandom at this point but I couldn't help it! I love me some good angst, and deathfics are just so fun to write! At least for me...
> 
> So, I present you're with this work! All hurt no comfort! (I'm sorry, not sorry.)
> 
> I hope you like it! Do tell me if I manage to induce some tears! 
> 
> Oh, also, this takes place between Season 1 and Season 2 (as I have not watched farther than episode 5 of season 2) so yeah. No Chloe.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: CHARACTER DEATH, GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION OF DEAD PEOPLE, BLOOD AND INJURY, SUCCESSFUL SUICIDE (Later on), SHOCK, AND TRAUMA! 
> 
> IF ALL OF THIS TRIGGERS YOU, THEN DON'T READ FOR YOUR OWN SAFETY!

Today was going to be a normal day.

He woke up, went through his daily routine, ate breakfast, and then headed on his merry way to the hellhole that they call 'school'.

Now, he wouldn't exactly call himself a star student (not by all means) but (while he wanted to take today off), as per school law, an extra day of absence on his part would catapult him straight into summer school.

Ridiculous.

So, as he made his way towards Hiddenville High at a leisurely pace, tardiness not at all on his mind, Max Thunderman smirked ('Villains don't _ smile _ , Maxie.').

Yup. Today was going to be a pretty normal day at school.

-0-

School was boring (as usual-). Today just seemed extra…  _ dull _ for some reason. It felt like there was some sort of heaviness that lied heavily within his gut and it was making him uneasy. It was probably just him being bored. Yeah- That. 

However, no matter what he tried, nothing seemed to alleviate the cloud of painfully  _ dull _ boredom (?) that suddenly graced his soul. Not even the pranks he got to play on Bradford (and a few other teachers) managed to lift that stupid sensation off his chest.

So he went to pick on Phoebe! Nothing manages to cheer him up like picking on his (older) twin sister be it messing up her perfectly styled hair or flicking her ears ('Maximus Thunderman, for the last time,  _ stop. It! _ ')

He went through the usual routine of teasing her about her new crush of the day (a boy named Jacob? Jason? Whatever-) and ruffling her hair ('Ha! You're so short I can easily do  _ this _ !') until it was a mess of entangled strands. 

He smirked as she glowered at him through flyaway strands of hair and even managed a grin as she stomped away from him, dragging away Orange ('Cherry Max, it's Cherry!') with her.

That smirk dulled slightly, however, as the feeling of dullness and unfulfillness still weighed heavily on his chest. He reached up a hand to rub at his abdomen and frowned in irritation and slight anxiety.

Just what was going on? 

He almost felt worried for a second, but then shrugged it off. Must be a side effect of him staying up late inventing last night. 

(He knows that's not the case but it's easier than admitting that the boredom might just not be that.)

Today was a normal day.

-0- 

The school day didn't take long to proceed after that. 

He did notice though, as he made his way to the English classroom alone ('Hahaha,  _ poor _ ,  _ little _ Max Thunderman! No friends and no talent! Super _ hero _ ?! More like Super **_zero_ ** !), that Phoebe was strictly  _ not  _ looking his way. She was frowning heavily and (even though it was apparent that she saw him and mentally acknowledged his presence) her eyes were looking anywhere but at him.

If that's not enough to tell him that she's angry at him, then  _ maybe  _ her dragging Orange ('For the last time Max, it's  _ Cherry _ !  _ Cher-ry _ !') towards the farthest seats from him was a more probable sign.

Just  _ maybe. _

"Maximus Thunderman!" He snapped his head towards the fuming English teacher. Shoot. He wasn't paying attention.

"Yes, Mrs. Brown?" He replied, politely for the most part, as he gritted his teeth briefly. Gosh, this weird sense of  _ dread  _ (He was done pretending it was simply dull  _ boredom _ .) was setting him on edge. At least his Thundersense was not blaring, that would've been  _ bad _ .

"You haven't been paying attention to this lesson, were you young man?" The woman gritted out, her expression furious. What was up with her, he wondered as he stared blankly at the angry woman (did she really think he'd answer that question?).

Then it clicked. 

Oh right! She was one of the teachers who got caught up in yesterday's prank! It actually took effort to stop a smile from splitting his face and ruining his innocent expression. Dang, was that  _ hard _ !

Apparently, he was taking too long to answer because the woman exhaled furiously through her nostrils and spun around, pen in hand. She jotted down God-knows-what on a small slip of paper before spinning around yet again (Gosh how is she not dizzy???) and slamming the slight slip on his desk. 

It was a note. To his parents. 

He peered at the angry teacher from underneath his eyelashes and pocketed the stupid thing. It would be a wonder if he even remembered the slip was there at all. 

The teacher remained standing there for a moment before gritting out, "You could use the time to pay attention and  _ study _ instead of coming up with  _ stupid pranks _ . Detention, Mr. Thunderman!"

Well, that escalated quickly. 

Not wanting to show how much it bothered him (not under that much scrutiny from the other students) Max silently nodded, looking as bored as he can be as the teacher glared at him one more time and spun around to finish her lesson.

Maybe today wouldn't be so normal after all.

-0-

Detention was… Painful.

Normally, he wouldn't mind the extra two hours of school. Most of the time he would sit alone and flip through his phone and maybe even finish his stupid school assignments (Gosh why were the letters dancing and  _ floating  _ around like this?!) as he waited for the time to pass.

Not like this though. That stupid feeling of dread that he had in his chest since the beginning of the day was so intense now it was almost burning. He couldn't hear anything past the buzz of panic in his ears as all his internal alarms  _ blared to life _ .

He was sure that stupid Mrs. Brown was trying to talk to him but he wasn't in a good enough state of mind to do anything but stare and attempt to take deep, even breaths through the panic that was clogging his veins. 

He tried everything to distract from the stupid feeling of fear and danger. He attempted to solve his homework but couldn't do much as the letters floated around his book in an almost mocking manner. 

Math was slightly better because the numbers  _ stayed in their damn place _ , but between the underlying panic in his gut, the clamminess of his hands, and his tense muscles (Two pencils were snapped because of said muscles) he didn't get even past the simplest of problems.

It didn't take long for him to give up on school work and to try to take a nap (You can guess how  _ that  _ worked out.).

It seemed agonizingly slow but soon enough, an hour and a half passed. Feeling slight relief that he'd be out of school soon, Max toyed with his (third) pencil and attempted to calm down.

It was just half an hour. Yeah, he could do that. 

Or… well, he could have done it had it not been for the sudden, sharp tug that almost sent him flying out of his seat. 

The teacher who was standing (or- well-  _ sitting _ .) guard on him raised an eyebrow at the sudden screech of his chair but soon overlooked it in favor of the magazine he was holding. 

Max didn't even get to catch his breath when the second tug hit him. This time he did get out of his seat, panting as his Thundersense went insane.

The teacher (what's-his-name) looked up sharply from his magazine and glowered at him, "Mr. Thunderman sit back  _ down. _ "

But Max didn't hear him.

Between the sudden feeling of being dumped in an ice bath and the painfully urgent tug in his belly, Max couldn't hear a thing but the sound of the blood rushing to his ears and suspiciously familiar screams of panic.

"Mr. Thunderman!"

Max's head snapped up, his wide eyes fixating on the angry teacher. He blinked once before he licked his chapped lips and bolted out of the classroom.

Max thought he had heard the angry teacher yelling his name as he ran like a bat from hell away from school. His surroundings all blurred as he ran, nothing but his home, his  _ family _ , on his mind. The tugging feeling got a bit sharper and Max tried his best to speed up even more.

Something was very wrong at home. 

_ 'Oh God, please let them be okay, please- please-'  _

He was probably garnering strange looks from running so fast. He didn't care. Maybe he should calm down and try to think it through. What was he thinking? Of course not! His family was in danger right now, so maybe he should be running faster than this. 

By the time he made it to his house, he was red in the face and panting hard. He didn't care nearly enough about that right now and he couldn't calm down,  _ wouldn't calm down,  _ until he saw all of his family well, alive, and  _ breathing _ .

He didn't even bother with knocking as he all but broke the door down in his urgency. Looking around wildly, he saw no form of life in the suspiciously dark house (despite the daylight) which only made the alarm bells in his head blare  _ louder _ .

"MOM?! MOOOM?!" He hollered at the top of his lungs, hoping for some kind of reaction, "MOM, DAD?!? PHOEBE, BILLY, NORA??!??!" Max yelled again, desperation and true fear being the only things he can clearly feel at the moment.

Quickly closing the door behind him, Max ran into the living room looking around for any form of life in the silent house-

And paused in sheer horror.

There, lying on the floor, were two  _ bodies _ . Two  _ very familiar _ **_bodies_ ** of the very people he was calling for a moment before.

Max couldn't believe his eyes. A slight whimper escaped his lips as he backpedaled in alarm. He yelped as he felt himself trip on something and was helpless to stop himself from hitting the ground butt first. He blinked slightly as the situation began to register a bit more in his horror-struck brain.

"Mom? Dad?" He mumbled weakly (he didn't even recognize the sound of his own  _ voice _ -) feeling numb as he stared, wide-eyed, at his parents' prone bodies lying on the floor. He noticed (through the horror and choking terror) that they were both very still (something that simply  _ didn't happen _ because Barb and Hank Thunderman were both so active and full of life.) and lifeless.

His Mom ('Oh sweetie, would you like some milk with that?') was lying on her side, her normally vibrant auburn locks looking dull as they lied on her face. Even in the dark, he could see that a disturbingly large patch of darkness was firmly staining her shirt and the ground beneath her.

His Dad, on the other hand, was lying on his back, his limbs sprawled around him in awkward angles. The man's body looked like it was used as a chew toy and (even though he was on the darker side of the room) it was very obvious which one of his parents sustained the most damage from whatever the  _ hell  _ happened here.

Feeling his stomach roil and his hands shaking violently as he struggled to process the grotesque scene, Max swallowed heavily as he took around the appearance of the living room. 

Everything was in _ shambles _ .

Their couch was torn in two, both halves were strewn carelessly on opposite sides of the room, the stuffing littering the floor like a really bad attempt at making homemade snow. The ceiling had several holes and scorch marks in it with the occasional crack here and there. The walls and floor were in a similar state with some added body shaped craters, smeared and splattered with dark patches that looked like  _ blood _ , and gigantic cracks that were only the result of something big and heavy slamming into them.

The shelves that his mother loved so much were demolished and the TV (or what remained of it) was half-melted on the ground. His mother's cherished expensive vases were strewn about, pitifully, on the destroyed floor in over a million pieces mixing in with the stuffing on the ground and making what looked like a low budget winter wonderland that much more dangerous. 

All in all, the place was a real mess. It was a wonder he never noticed from the beginning because, even with all the darkness, the destruction was too much for it to not be noticeable.

Swallowing and feeling more than numb and nauseous, Max clenched his eyes briefly (and hardened his heart against whatever he might find) and slowly made his way towards his mother's body. He still remembered Colosso's first-aid lessons and was starting to feel stupid. What if his parents were alive this time whole and he did nothing but gape around?

_ Pathetic. _

Quickly grabbing his Mom's wrist (not even pausing to marvel at how cold it was) Max pressed his shaking, clammy fingers to her pulse point, and held his breath. Here goes-

A moment. Two. Three.

Nothing.

Max licked his lips again, clenched his eyes tightly as grief sparked in his chest and clogged his throat, and then tried again.

A moment. Two. Three.

And nothing.

He tried again, this time with the pulse point in her neck, feeling desperate for any sign-  _ any sign _ that his mother was still alive- was still  _ here. _

A moment. Two. Three.

No change.

Max allowed himself to close his eyes in grief and shook his head slightly as he felt his breath get stuck in his throat. She was gone, there was no doubt about that now. 

Shaking slightly, he attempted to swallow through the lump in his throat and the ache in his chest to no avail. He opened his misty eyes and exhaled shakily as he attempted to contain himself. He still needed to check on his Dad and siblings, he can't lose himself to grief now. 

Though, if he took a moment to press his warm, sweaty, forehead to his mother's cold, still, one, well, no one was there to judge. 

After a moment, Max attempted to haul himself to his feet. He, ultimately, failed (his legs felt like two pieces of that noodle jelly that Colosso likes so much-) so he crawled over to his Dad. 

Closing his eyes, he turned his head to the ceiling briefly as if to pray before he allowed himself to focus on his task again. Now was not the time to grieve Max, he told himself, you still need to check on the others.

He carefully grabbed his Dad's bruised and strangely bent wrist (and gosh was that a painful sight-) and proceeded to repeat the same process he did with his Mom. 

It bore the same results. 

_ Nothing _ .

Unlike with his Mom, Max buried his face in his father's chest and tried his best  _ not  _ to fall apart right then and there.

His Dad-

His Dad was the strongest man he knew. If he didn't survive whatever hit this place then what did this say for his siblings? 

He bit his lip (the pain helped ground him a bit) and moved to get away from his Dad (it took all his willpower not to crumble and simply curl into a ball) as he steeled his resolve again. He still had siblings he needed to check on. 

In his grief and numbness, he never noticed that Hank Thunderman's eyes were staring sightlessly at the ceiling (or what remained of it), glazed over with the dullness of death.

-0-

After scouring much of the demolished first floor, Max reached a logical conclusion. 

His siblings were upstairs. 

That was unfortunate because Max wasn't sure he could actually make the trip to the second floor. The sight of his parents lying on the ground,  _ dead,  _ **_broken_ ** , had left him shaken in a way he never felt before.

Is that what loss felt like? What debilitating grief and horror and  _ shock _ felt like?

Crouching at the bottom of the stairs, Max covered his face briefly. He needed to gather his courage. He rubbed his face a bit and breathed in deeply, not really noticing the strange stench that was present within the atmosphere of the house. His siblings needed him and, regardless of what he might find, Max wouldn't let them down. 

It was with trepidation that Max, stumbling and almost falling on his face, hauled himself to his feet and started his trek upstairs. Honestly, it was nothing short of a miracle that the stairs survived all of the destruction.

He looked around and clenched his fists in despair. Much like the first floor (though not nearly as much), the second floor was full of scorch marks and holes. There were even a few ceiling beams poking through the destroyed ceiling.

Mom and Dad's room was trashed and so was Billy's, Nora's, and Phoebe's. 

Phoebe's room looked (outwardly) the worst so he went there first.

If the room looked the worst on the outside then it was a million times  _ worse  _ on the inside. Phoebe's favorite posters were little more than ripped apart strands of paper, her shelves were broken and their belongings were scattered around the room in bits of broken pieces and tiny shards of plastic and glass. 

The closet was on the ground, splinters and other pieces of wood surrounding it in an almost protective manner. Phoebe's ('Cute!') outfits were all torn in one manner or the other. The dresser was in a similar state to the closet, with bits of Phoebe's favorite accessories surrounding it and scattered farther into what remained of the room.

Phoebe's bed looked the worst out of all the furniture in the room. The mattress was ripped open with bits of cotton and metal springs lying about the room and decorating the floor, the blankets were nothing more than shreds of cloth and stuffing and the pillows were pulverized to the point of being unrecognizable.

The lighting in the room was a little better, if only for what remained of the daylight that streamed through the window, so it made finding his siblings a little easier. It didn't take long to spot them anyway.

The three of them were lying on the floor in the corner of the room in lifeless heaps (much like Mom and Dad). Phoebe was lying in front of Billy and Nora with a hole in her chest and a pool of blood beneath her. Her normally rosy cheeks were pallid and her lips were blue. Billy and Nora were behind her, looking almost as bad minus the gore and the extensive amounts of blood. 

Billy had a gigantic bruise on his cheek and his left wrist was bent painfully. His legs also looked like they had been broken from the angle they were at. Nora, on the other hand, was almost upright were she sat. Her look was busted open and there were copious amounts of blood moon the right side of her face. Her, normally, bright locks were matted with blood and sticking on her face. Other than that, there were no other injuries he could detect on her person from where he stood.

Max took one look at the scene-

And promptly emptied his stomach. 

Heaving a bit violently, Max felt a piece of his soul break as he stared at his twin sister, his other half, lying on the floor in a pool of her  _ own blood _ . Glancing at his other siblings behind her, he felt another part of him break as he took them in. They are  _ children _ . They didn't deserve to be like this-' They  _ are children. _

It might be 'were' by now, his mind 'helpfully' supplied, as he turned his attention back to Phoebe. 

And to think that it was less than (what time was it now?) 3 hours (?) When he last saw her alive.

He didn't need to check her pulse to know that she was no more. That wound would have killed her in less than 10 seconds (it was also apparent it did by the look of frozen surprise and shock on her face).

Max coughed a bit to clear his throat from the remaining acid and clenched his teeth to prevent himself from throwing up again. Taking a deep breath, he got up to his feet somewhat steadily. Billy and Nora were all that remained now.

Carefully maneuvering around Phoebe's body, he kneeled next to Billy (him being the closest.) and checked his pulse. 

A moment. Two. Three.

Nothing. 

Max carefully put down Billy's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. He and Billy were never close but he was his little brother. He was a  _ kid.  _ Releasing it, he carefully stepped around his little brother ('Oh, this is  _ awesome _ !') to reach Nora. He winced as he took her in, his position giving him a better view of her. 

Nora was bundled by the wall, her right arm twisted painfully. She looked like she had accidentally fallen asleep while doing something, but Max knew better. He gently adjusted the little rainbow-colored bow on her head and bit his lip to gather his courage. Physically, she looked the best out of everyone in his family. Nora didn't need a coward now, not when she might be alive.

He repeated the aforementioned process with his younger sister and (as he expected) got the same results. Nothing. He carefully set down her wrist and leaned on the wall, covering his face.

Max didn't move. Nothing registered or mattered anymore. They were gone. They were all gone. His chest burned with the pain of loss and grief as he finally started registering the situation.

They were gone. His family, all gone. 

He was all alone.

Max clenched his eyes shut and swallowed again. He rubbed his eyes a bit roughly as he felt a painful burn behind them.

He wouldn't cry.

He couldn't cry. 

He didn't deserve to.

He had failed them. Again. He didn't deserve to mourn or cry or _do_ _anything._

Everyone was right. He was a huge disappointment. 

Yet despite all of that, he felt a few traitorous tears escape his clenched lids. Everything hurt but it was all so  _ numb  _ at the same time. He felt everything and nothing. He…

He wanted his family back.

With that last thought, Max stood up shakily and tried to maneuver himself around Nora so he wouldn't accidentally step on her. He carefully stepped over Billy and tried to dodge a piece of fallen rubble without stepping into Phoebe's blood (which was more difficult than he had thought). 

Phoebe… He spared his twin one more look and blinked rapidly. He stood, frozen in his place, as he tried desperately not to cry. He wanted to scream, he wanted to wail, he wanted to break  _ something _ , but he couldn't because what right does he have to do  _ any  _ of those things if he was simply going to fail everyone time and time again?!

He exhaled heavily and kneeled next to his twin. Gently, he brushed away a strand of hair that had fallen into her face and bowed his head. Quickly coming to a decision, Max pressed a kiss to his sister's cold forehead and gently closed her wide eyes. 

Opening his eyes, Max pushed himself to his feet and stepped over Phoebe's body, his shoes making wet noises as he accidentally stepped into the pool of blood. He paused for a moment, before shaking his head and continuing forward out of the destroyed room (he tried his best to disregard the bloody footprints he was leaving) and started downstairs. 

He had an important call to make.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, and welcome back! This chapter was so difficult to write and it took me seven days (counting the few days of break) to pump it out. 
> 
> Originally, this was going to be a two-shot fic, but seeing as; 
> 
> 1) I was being overwhelmed by the need to tie the events of this chapter and ending together in a cohesive manner which almost ruined everything.
> 
> and 
> 
> 2) I felt that the ending coupled with this (incredibly heavy) chapter would have been too much all at once and would have ruined the pacing and overall impact I wanted this fic to have. 
> 
> I elected to add the number of chapter this fic will have, so instead of two chapters you'll get 3 chapters.
> 
> Chapter 1 - Setting the stage for later coping and trauma.
> 
> Chapter 2 - Dealing with the more physical effects of the trauma and heavily mourning.
> 
> Chapter 3 (future chapter) - Dealing with the consequences of unattended grief and depression. 
> 
> So yeah! I hope you like this chapter, I made sure to pack it with as much realistic angst as I can! I sprinkled in some stages of grief for my (and by extension your) personal enjoyment! 
> 
> So yeah, enough talking now, on to the chapter!

The Hero League didn't take long to arrive. 15 minutes had barely passed since he had called them but, soon enough, the door was being broken down and heroes were swarming into the house like ants on a piece of candy.

Max didn't react to any of that, far too lost in grief and shock to respond to anything. He was sure that President Kickbutt was trying to talk to him, but he couldn't discern anything she was saying from the buzz of static in his ears. 

He wasn't sure what was actually happening outside of his consciousness . His hands felt clammy but that's about all he can currently, consciously, feel. His mind was suddenly having trouble processing everything and anything, and he felt like he was floating on some unknown planet. 

Images of his family kept replaying in his mind like a twisted version of one of those stupid PowerPoint Presentations that the teachers in Hiddenville (Metroburg uses holograms) use. The images kept flashing between past and present. Phoebe laughing with Cherry, Phoebe dead on the floor of her room, Mom and Dad joking and teasing each other, Mom and Dad dead in the living room, Billy and Nora running around the house playing, Billy and Nora broken and bleeding behind Phoebe.

He wasn't sure what he was even feeling anymore. Sometimes the fog clears up and he feels vestiges of  _ something-  _ something that  _ hurts _ and  _ burns  _ and leaves him breathless with its intensity, but most of the time it's simply nothing but a blurred perception of everything and flashing images of his loved ones. 

He wasn't sure where he even was anymore. At times, he gets moments of clarity where he's in a bare room with nothing but white everywhere (why is it all white though? It was dark in his house and the walls weren't that white so where was he-), but soon enough they all blend back into the blur of static and confusion that he unwittingly found himself in. 

He just felt so heavy and so weightless at the same time, and his head felt like it was full of cotton wool. Then as suddenly as that sensation developed, he abruptly felt his surroundings sharpen and his sense of perception clear up. It was as though a switch had been flipped, and it was so disorienting, he felt like his very  _ soul _ was being jarred from its place. 

Feeling his heart rate increasing as his breathing got faster and faster, Max took quick stock of his surroundings. Heart monitor, I.V. drip, soft white sheets, and an overbearing smell of antiseptic- oh shoot he was in a hospital room (which explained all the whiteness). 

Suddenly, doctors and nurses swarmed into the room, increasing his anxiety and making him panic even more. He was in a hospital- he couldn't  _ be  _ in a hospital- what about their secret, it'll all be revealed and his parents would be so mad and disappointed-

His chest burned with the lack of oxygen and he felt his heart hammering in his chest. He tried to take deep, even, breaths (just like Dr. Colosso always said-) and calm down enough to think the situation through. It didn't work. Panic had already consumed him in its powerful dark grip, and his throat was beginning to feel clogged and he couldn't breathe properly-

A sensation of cool calmness invaded his frenzied senses and calmed his frazzled nerves as he felt his eyes droop in sudden exhaustion. Soon after, his vision went black and all thoughts of the material world fled his head.

-0-

President Kickbutt was not having a good week. Between the endless mountains of paperwork and Max's call, the Hero League was at an all-time worst. There wasn't a hero in Metroburg that hasn't heard of the Thunderman tragedy and most were shocked, frightened even, that such a prominent superhero family was so easily  _ killed _ . 

Hank Thunderman was known for his abnormal strength and his ability to conquer even the toughest of opponents (as his fight with the Green Ghoul 20 years prior proved-) and his death had brought about a sudden instability that hadn't been in the hero community since before his debut as a hero. 

His son, Max, was another can of worms entirely. Ever since he was in Middle School, the boy wanted nothing more than to be a supervillain. He kept telling everyone and anyone that would listen to him that he's going to be the 'greatest supervillain' and surpass even Dark Mayhem. He always punctuated his statements with outrageous pranks and remarks and (according to his teachers) he was an absolute terror with abysmal marks. From what she had seen though, Max Thunderman was nothing if not confident and witty, and when she found him at what remained of the Thunderman home in Hiddenville, she was shaken to her core.

He looked so lost, and he wouldn't respond to anyone or anything. He just kept staring into thin air with glazed over eyes and ragged breathing, looking for all the world like someone who had died on the inside. Remembering the look in his eyes, as he was carted away by the Metroburg ambulance team, made her cringe and shudder every time. Poor boy didn't deserve what was happening to him.

A week had passed since the incident and yet Max wasn't showing any sign of recovery. Blobbin had already requested that the boy be transferred into his care immediately but she wanted to give Max a chance to choose his new guardian. She wouldn't take his right to choose, he had lost too much already and (by the look of things) Blobbin agreed. 

It was all a big mess and Kickbutt was in the process of drinking some afternoon coffee (trying to unwind a bit-) when the Metroburg City Hospital called. Apparently, Max had responded to something but-

"We had to sedate him," Said the Doctor over the phone.

"What?" Kickbutt gritted out as she rubbed the bridge of her nose. Gosh, the kid just woke up why-

"He was showing signs of an Anxiety Attack," The doctor, whose name she can't remember for the life of her, responded, "It could've set back his recovery, and we had to act quickly."

Kickbutt exhaled through her nostrils and set down the phone for a moment. This was all such a royal mess, wasn't it?

"President Kickbutt?" A hesitant voice sounded from the speaker of her phone.

Kickbutt felt her eye twitch as he bit her lip in frustration. Yup, it was a  _ huge _ mess.

-0-

When Max came to, almost 12 hours later, the first thing he noticed was the stark white ceiling. Strange, that wasn't how his ceiling looked. He blinked again as his memories started to trickle in slowly. He was in… a hospital. He closed his eyes a bit in frustration. _Why_ was he in a hospital- where was his family? Just- _what happened???_

A soft knock sounded on the door. Max just had the time to incline his head towards it when a nurse invited herself in. She looked… plain, to say the least. Her brown hair, dark eyes, and peachy complexion did not make her stand out much.

The lady was holding something in her hand, something sharp and pointy- oh God that was a  _ syringe-.  _ He took a sharp intake of breath and fought the urge to scream. He felt his body tense involuntarily and, apparently, he inhaled too loudly because the nurse suddenly noticed him. 

"Oh! You're awake!" She crowed and immediately started buzzing a strange button by his bed. 

Max didn't reply though, too focused on the object in her hand to really consider talking. She turned to him, brandishing the syringe in her hand (the urge to scream strengthened), and smiled sweetly, "The doctor will be here shortly." She said and then raised the syringe. 

Max eyed the thing with slight fear, but as the nurse stabbed the I.V. drip next to his bed with it, he felt the tension bleed from his shoulders and relief settle in his bones. Thank Goodness that thing wasn't being stabbed into his arm instead!

His thought process was interrupted when three polite knocks sounded on the door. This time, a man with salt and pepper hair and a rather friendly face invited himself into the room. He smiled serenely at Max as the boy pushed himself upright. The 15-year-old staunchly ignored the slight (almost unnoticeable) weakness in his arms, and began to wonder just  _ how long _ was he asleep for? 

"Good evening, Max. I'm Doctor Kevin," The doctor said as he adjusted the file in his hands, "How are you feeling today?" He asked with a friendly smile.

Max blinked at the harmless question (that the doctor was probably hoping would put him at ease) and licked his chapped lips. He tried to talk but his throat protested the action vehemently. Wincing, he pointed at his throat and hoped that the doctor would get the memo.

The doctor (now known as Dr. Kevin) nodded sheepishly and turned to the plain nurse, "Please, pour him a cup of water."

The nurse nodded (looking more dignified than she had when she barged into the room) and proceeded to fiddle with a closed bottle of water that had been sitting on the table next to him. Max blinked and turned back to the doctor.

Doctor Kevin smiled evenly, "I'm sure you have a lot of questions right now," He said kindly as the nurse handed Max the cup of water. The 15-year-old nodded a bit absently as he stared at the paper cup in his hand.p

The doctor nodded patiently and pointed at him with a pen that he got from… somewhere, "We'll answer them all in due time, but for now, you should probably drink some water."

Max nodded, still not entirely there, and took a slow sip before he gulped the whole thing down. Gosh, he didn't know he was so thirsty until now. He nodded at the nurse gratefully and handed her the paper cup.

Looking at the doctor, Max tilted his head, "What-" He paused, cleared his throat (his voice sounded so scratchy-), and then tried again, "What happened? Why am I here?" He, despite his best efforts, rasped out.

The doctor looked at him critically for a few moments, "You truly don't remember, do you?"

Max wrinkled his nose in frustration, "Remember _ what _ ? The last thing I remember was being stuck in  _ detention _ ,"  _ -and feeling an acute sense of danger _ .

"...I see," Murmured the doctor looking suddenly uncomfortable.

"You didn't answer me though," Max deadpanned, fisting his sheets, "What happened-  _ why  _ am I here- I- Where's my  _ family _ ?" 

The doctor ceased all action before he gently closed the file. He peered at Max through sad eyes full of pity, and Max found himself growing angry. He  _ hated  _ pity.

"Don't just  _ stand there _ !" Max snarled, "Tell me what's wrong- what  _ happened _ ?!  _ Where _ is everyone?!" He could feel his breathing elevate as his anxiety skyrocketed all of a sudden. He had a feeling he won't like the answer.

The doctor looked at him with a strange look, "Max," The man said slowly, "I need you to calm down."

"Calm down?!" Max laughed a bit hysterically, hating the way his voice cracked, " _ How _ do you want me to calm down when you won't tell me what the  _ hell _ is going on?!?" He wasn't shouting- not quite at least.

The doctor looked the epitome of calmness as he cautiously approached his bedside, "I understand," He replied evenly, "I just need you to calm down before you launch yourself into an anxiety attack."

"But-"

"Calm down, breathe evenly," The doctor paused, looking like he was considering his options, "And I'll tell you everything. Does that sound good?"

Max glared at the man but jerkily nodded as he averted his gaze to his fisted hands. He tried his best to even out his breathing through the breathing exercises that Colosso had taught him. It was a lot of work, but he managed a semi-calm state.

The doctor, who at some point pulled up a chair to his bedside, studied him critically, "Are you feeling better?"

Max bit his lip at the surge of irrational anger that flooded his veins and sighed in frustration, "Less angry, I guess," He mumbled out, his brows furrowed slightly.

"Good," The doctor nodded, "Now, I need you to focus with me because what I'm about to say isn't going to be easy to hear."

Max looked at him as slight anxiety prickled at his chest, "Something bad happened." He stated anxiously.

The doctor pursed his lips, "Unfortunately, yes."

"And I can't remember...?"

"Not at the moment, no."

Max clenched his eyes briefly and fought the urge to yell again, "Why?" He gritted out instead, fisting the sheets of his hospital bed.

The doctor barely reacted to his tone, "I can only assume it's a defense mechanism that your brain activated," The man said, his tone even, "It is not unheard of for victims of trauma to block out unpleasant memories, especially if said memories cause them grief."

Max licked his lips as slow, venomous, panic clawed at his very heart, "What-" He swallowed and cleared his throat as his voice broke slightly, "What… what happened?" He asked hesitantly.

Doctor Kevin looked at him with a pained expression, "Brace yourself," He said quietly. 

Just then, with that one little statement, all of Max's alarm bells  _ blared _ to life. 

"Are you ready?" The man inquired gently, and Max could literally feel his heart plummet.

The truth is, he  _ really  _ didn't want to hear this because- what could have possibly been so traumatic and horrifying that his brain  _ had to block it out  _ as a defense mechanism? 

(he already had a few ideas but none that he particularly wanted to entertain.)

Max closed his eyes and worried his lip. He really _ needed  _ to know, but he didn't  _ want  _ to. 

Coming to a decision, Max nodded jerkily and braced himself mentally (preparing for the worst.)

"Today is Thursday, June 16th, 2015" The doctor started heavily; carefully avoiding Max's confused gaze, "About a week ago, the Thunderman house in Hiddenville received an attack by a villain not yet identified,"

Max felt his eyes widen as memories began to trickle in. Mom, Dad, Phoebe, Billy, and Nora- all- all-

"The unknown villain has succeeded in…" The doctor paused to collect his words, noticing the slowly growing look of horrified realization on Max's face, "assassinating," The man tactfully ignored the choked noise that escaped Max's lips, "almost the entire family. Only one person remains now, and.." Here, the doctor hesitated.

Max, who had gone so pale his complexion almost matched the hospital sheets, carefully looked at the doctor, "And what?" He murmured hoarsely, barely keeping it together.

"You're the only person that survived the attack, Max. I'm so sorry."

Max didn't respond after that. He felt a familiar sting behind his eyes and the stupid lump in his throat that could only be the result of incoming tears. He tried to rub his eyes to ward off the stupid burning sensation behind his retinas though judging by slight wetness he felt on his cheeks, he wasn't quite successful.

The doctor gently patted his shoulder and stood up, "I'm so sorry for your loss," The man stated quite sadly, "I'll give you a moment alone." And with that, the man left the room.

It was only when he was truly, finally, alone that Max allowed his sobs to escape him in the form of heartwrenching wails of anguish and sorrow.

-0-

_ It feels surreal _ , Max thought idly not really paying attention to his surroundings. He was dressed in all black and while that normally wouldn't have made a difference, it seemed especially prominent on the day of his family's funeral.

A lot of..  _ people _ actually came. He had known that his family was prominent (his father was one of the most celebrated superheroes in the country for God's sake-) but it still felt… unnatural.

Many people had come to him before the beginning of the service to wish him condolences. Some were sympathetic, others looked like they didn't particularly care as long as they made themselves look good.

Personally, he just wanted to be done with it and just go… somewhere (Blobbin was hovering nearby maybe he'd actually take him up on his offer-). The whole thing felt out of place. 

The ceremony itself passed in a blur and he didn't pay attention (too lost in his own dark thoughts and grief) until it was time for his eulogy. He hadn't come with a pre-prepared speech like most of the others did, so he had to come up with something on the fly. 

He wasn't known for his quick wit for nothing, though. Quickly and in less than 5 minutes, Max successfully composed a 25-minute eulogy celebrating the lives of Hank, Barb, Phoebe, Billy, and Nora Thunderman. He told stories of the family chilling under the sun and basking in the summer heat on the many picnics they used to hold. He told the mourners of the achievements of each and every one of them, he celebrated his kin for the little things that made them, well,  _ them _ , and he made sure that every member of his late family would be remembered for  _ who  _ they were and  _ not _ what they were thought to be. 

By the end of his speech, he was left feeling exhausted and raw. He hated crying in public and, considering who had just died and his state of affairs, he shed quite a few tears, but (he kept reminding himself over and over) this was for Mom and Dad and Phoebe and Billy and Nora. They deserved this and he would give nothing less. 

Even if he felt disconnected from himself. Even if it hurt him and his heart felt like it was being ripped to little pieces. It didn't matter. It was for them.

Everything was for them.

He watched mutely, as the pallbearers began carrying each and every member of his family. It was a closed-casket kind of thing so none of the (nosy) mourners got to see the state that each Thunderman was in. He heard some displeased whispers before the ceremony even began but he was just so damn exhausted that he ignored them. 

Those sorts of people were the absolute worst and he already feels bad enough without causing a public scene for the tabloids to have a field day about. He knew there were some photographers and journalists in the (quite huge) crowd (it was one of the reasons why he wanted to have a small, private, funeral but his family was practically celebrities around here so he really had no choice in the matter-) and there was absolutely no need for him to feed them headlines for their next  _ big scoop _ .

Disgusting.

He marched behind the pallbearers dead-eyed and watched them carefully weave through the twists and turns of the streets. He had wanted to participate in bearing the caskets but considering that five people had died, he felt that it wouldn't have been fair of him to help carry one of the caskets and not all.

When they reached the cemetery, it felt like time itself started slowing down. Things began to get clearer and it was as though reality came crashing down on him because (suddenly-) the grief became that much more palpable and holding back tears started to feel more and more difficult.

Max's chest ached with loss and grief as he watched the people lower down the five caskets 6 feet into the ground. It felt like the universe was hammering in the fact that his family was not coming back. He blinked rapidly as tears streaked their way down his pale cheeks and took a shaky breath. He wanted to look away, he really did, but he felt like he owed it to his family that he sees this through to the end. 

He wouldn't be a coward now. Not when it truly counts.

-0-

People giving you their condolences after the burial of a loved one (or multiple loved ones in this case) felt…  _ awkward _ .

At this point, he wanted nothing more than to disappear off the face of Earth. He didn't want anything to do with those people (especially since so many have come-) and it showed in the way he stared at every single one of them through hollow eyes. It felt painfully awkward for all those involved but, soon enough, it was over. 

Many people rushed out of the cemetery as the sky darkened ominously and the clouds started packing together. The day had been sunny so far, and the weather forecast declared it a perfectly sunny day, so no one had the foresight to bring along an umbrella and they'd all rather not get wet.

Max didn't care much about that. He simply stood, rooted to his spot, in front of the five graves and stared at them with the intensity of someone who wanted nothing more for them than to disappear. He felt something spark in his chest, but he wasn't sure what it was (nor did he want to know).

Thunder blared loudly, its sound bouncing off the graves in the cemetery. At this point, there was almost no one in the vicinity to hear nature's warning. Only the dead and the boy who was as good as dead.

Eventually, some point after the rain started pouring, Max heard the footsteps of someone approaching. They were light (so obviously; not Blobbin-) and measured in a way that made him know that whoever was approaching him wanted him to know that they were coming. 

Eventually, the footsteps slowed to a stop (next to him). Max felt his curiosity rise (unbidden) from the depths of his body but didn't make a single move to satisfy it. 

"Hello, Max." The mystery person spoke.

Max's eyes widened slightly. That voice…

"President Kickbutt." He stated quietly; sneaking a glance at her from the corner of his eyes. 

The woman simply inclined her head in his direction, not taking her eyes off of the graves.

Max blinked emotionlessly (not really, but he was too damn tired to even think about it-) and turned his gaze towards his family's final resting place, "What brings you here?" He asked quietly.

The woman gave a mirthless puff of laughter, not paying any mind to the rain drenching her, "I never left." She drawled out; enunciating every syllable.

Max felt his brows furrow in confusion, "You didn't…? Why?" He asked, perplexed.

He didn't see the action, but he was about 70% sure that Kickbutt shrugged her shoulders.

"I wanted to talk to you," The President of the Hero League replied easily.

Max pursed his lips as a stab of irrational irritation traveled through his body. He shoved his soaking hands into his equally wet pockets and fully faced her. 

The Superheroine was dressed in a simple black skirt and a formal suit jacket. Her coat, which stopped at her knees just a few inches below her skirt, was also black. And thick. Way too thick for July.

She, for all intents and purposes, looked like she was going to attend a business meeting rather than go to a funeral. He mentally shrugged his shoulders and decided that it didn't matter.

"You wanted to talk to me?" Max snapped in disbelief; a sneer curling on his lip.

"Yes," The woman replied evenly, "I wanted to talk to you." She turned her gaze to him.

Max barked out a humorless laugh and covered his eyes, "Okay…" He bit his lip slightly and nodded to himself, "Okay," He smirked, though his eyes were devoid of joy, and tilted his head, "Let me do you a better one." His smile dropped and he took a step closer to the unflinching woman.

"Why here?" He hissed angrily, "Why  _ now _ ?" He felt his hands, which he had ripped out of his pockets a while ago, curl into fists. He wasn't even sure  _ why  _ he was this irritated. This… angry.

President Kickbutt tilted her head lightly to the side, as she regarded him with something akin to wariness, "This is the only place that you and I can visit at the same time," She replied calmly, "Also, I only have an hour of free time remaining today before I have to go back to my duties and, even then, I probably won't catch a break in a very long time."

Max clenched his jaw and tried his best to calm down. He knew he was being irrational, he knew he shouldn't direct his anger at her, he  _ knew _ . That didn't stop him from being angry though. 

"Fine," He finally gritted out, "Let us talk. What did you want to say?" He took a few steps back and promptly focused his gaze on the set of five graves that lay in front of him.

President Kickbutt remained silent, and Max felt his irritation spike again. She wanted to talk, didn't she? Why wasn't she talking then?

"I wanted to discuss your options for the future," The woman finally spoke; carefully dragging out her syllables, "And inform you of… a few things about the incident."

Max clenched his eyes briefly as his nostrils flared. Five minutes. Can't he go for five minutes without someone reminding him that he was basically both alone and homeless? That he had no one left for him? That he had  _ nothing _ ?

President Kickbutt, taking his lack of response for what it was, continued, "Blobbin offered you a space with him, didn't he?"

Max frowned despondently, "Yes." He mumbled, his voice barely heard above the rain.

"And did you reply?" Kickbutt asked curiously.

Max pursed his lips, "No. Not yet." He muttered, scuffing his shoe lightly on the muddy ground. 

Kickbutt hummed, "Okay. Are you going to accept?" 

Max shrugged non-committedly, "Maybe, maybe not." 

Kickbutt remained silent.

For a moment, the only sound in the cemetery was the sound of rain hitting the ground and the graves rhythmically. For a moment, Max closed his eyes and imagined a scenario where none of this happened. For a moment, everything was okay. Even if it wasn't.

"...You do realize that you don't have many options beyond that, right?" Kickbutt breathed out, her voice barely reaching Max.

Jarred out of the tantalizing fantasy his mind composed, Max sighed heavily, "Yes. I know."

Kickbutt went silent again.

Max felt a small smile creep on his face as he remembered Dr. Colosso's nickname for the President ('Villains don't _ respect  _ heroes Maxie!') but, just as quickly as the smile appeared, it fell off his face. Dr. Colosso...

"Hey…" Max gasped out, panic clawing viciously on his guts, and whipped his head towards the (surprised) superheroine, "Dr. Colosso! What happened to him?"

President Kickbutt pursed her lips and turned away from him and that alone was answer enough.

Max felt a fresh wave of grief and loss move through his body and tried to brace himself against the onslaught. Even Colosso hadn't been safe from the attack. Colosso… Colosso was a  _ villain _ . 

Max clenched his eyes shut as his emotions warred in his chest. The grief that had dulled somewhat in the last few minutes (President Kickbutt unknowingly served as a distraction) returned with a vicious vengeance. His best friend… How did he not think to ask about his  _ one _ and  _ only friend? _

Colosso- Colosso was the one person who had been there for him through thick and thin. When he was being bullied by the other supe-kids (as his dad had dubbed them.) in school, Colosso was the one to give him advice about dealing with them. When he declared his desire to become a supervillain, Colosso was the only one to not laugh at him. When he first started out as an inventor, Colosso was the first to congratulate him on his inventions (and even gave Max pointers on how to improve them!).

The 15-year-old pressed a shaking hand to his mouth. He had not asked after his (only) friend- he had  _ not  _ searched for his (only) friend- he  _ forgot  _ about his  _ only friend. _

Hot tears contrasted heavily with the cold rain as they mixed together on Max's face. Guilt, sadness, grief, horror,  _ loss  _ all swirled around in his being. How could he-  _ how could he _ -

"Max," He felt someone lay a hand on his shoulder. Max opened his eyes, but did not move his gaze from the ground, nor did he move his hand.

"I wanted to inform you earlier about… the ' _ doctor's _ ' status," The lady grumbled; her tone turning a bit strange as she pronounced the word 'doctor', "I'm sorry you had to know  _ now _ , but there was no helping it. Not with the league's condition."

Max nodded slightly and attempted to swallow around the sudden lump that formed in his throat.

"We buried him in the villain cemetery, in case you wanted to know." She said awkwardly.

Max nodded once more as a pang went through his chest. He didn't even attend Colosso's funeral. His best friend must be rolling in his grave by now.

Max carefully removed his hand from his mouth and took a deep, shaky, breath, "Is there… is there anything else that I- That I need to- to know?" He stuttered slightly; his voice cracking in multiple places.

Unfortunately, Kickbutt nodded. The woman was starting to look more and more uncomfortable and it was obvious that whatever news she had left wouldn't be good, "We have evidence that suggests that Dark Mayhem was involved."

Max felt his eyes widen. His grief forgotten for a moment, he turned towards the superheroine, " _ W-what? _ " 

The lady looked at him with pity, but Max was too shocked to even feel angry about it, "He- They left a letter. We found it in your room in the basement."

Max felt all blood drain from his face as a violent sense of vertigo threatened to make him keel over. He did stumble, but Kickbutt wasn't a superheroine for nothing. 

"A- A letter?" Max mumbled numbly, "They left a  _ letter _ ?" He rasped in disbelief.

President Kickbutt looked at him with concern, but nodded nonetheless, "Yes. We already read it to make sure it didn't have any…  _ dangerous _ content, and," The woman paused for a moment and took a deep breath, "It  _ strongly _ suggested that Dark Mayhem was the one to command the attack on your house."

It was truly a testament to Max's strength that he didn't keel over right then and there. As it is, his head was spinning and it was only Kickbutt's hand gripping his arm that kept him from kissing the muddy ground.

As it is, the 15-year-old blinked heavily and attempted to fight off the dizziness that threatened to steal his senses, "Can I," He began hesitantly as Kickbutt slowly released his arm, "Can I have that letter?" He asked, voice wavering slightly.

The woman considered for a moment... before she nodded, "I don't see why not," She replied honestly, "I'll see to it."

Max nodded slowly, "Thanks." He said with relative sincerity even though his voice sounded as hollow as he felt.

President Kickbutt patted his shoulder. 

No other words were exchanged between them after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Deep Exhausted Breath* So yeah. Here it is. I'll try my best to edit it later but I'm not sure I'll succeeded much. *Shrugs* Oh well, what's done is done. 
> 
> Writing this took a LOT out of me. Man, I am feeling the tiredness! Hopefully, I managed to portray everything correctly without messing up! 
> 
> Man, the things I do to this boy. I feel so bad for him! 
> 
> Welp, that's all for now! Hopefully, Part 3 will take less time than Part 2, but with the way things are going, I kinda doubt it.
> 
> Aight then! I'mma go now, catch up on some well earned rest- Oh and don't forget to point out any mistakes you see! 
> 
> Peace!
> 
> JanaHani.exe is officially out!


	3. In the end, it doesn't even matter~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the end, it doesn't even matter~ -Linkin Park, 'In The End'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am wasted. I wanted to finish two days ago, but here we are. Here have this unedited chapter that in very proud of. It's dawn where I am and I ruined my sleep schedule doing this.
> 
> I'm tired. I need to sleep. I'll add more notes later. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter regardless of how unedited it is at the moment. 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: MENTIONS OF ANXIETY, FLASHBACKS, SEVERE ANXIETY ATTACK, SYMPTOMS OF PTSD, AND SUCCESSFUL SUICIDE. IF ALL OF THIS TRIGGERS YOU, DON'T. READ.
> 
> EDIT 02/7/2020: Now, that I'm fully awake, I'd like to thank all those who read this fic! Your support is truly appreciated and I'm glad that my work managed to attract some people considering how tiny the fandom truly is!
> 
> That said, I hope you enjoy this chapter! I hope I managed to convey the emotions Max was feeling correctly and I hope that I did Blobbin's character justice despite how little I mentioned him.
> 
> Thank you all so much!

Max felt hopeless. He felt like nothing in this life _mattered_ anymore. He lay on his bed in Blobbin's mansion (he accepted the offer because what _else_ could he do?) feeling nothing but a desolate ache in his chest. He felt horrible and couldn't even get himself to do more than the bare minimum required of him to survive ('Thank you Blobbin, but I'm not really hungry right now…').

Blobbin (bless his kind soul) tried his best to cheer Max up, but nothing seemed to lift the 15-year-old's spirits even one bit. Max was stuck in a pit of complete darkness and he saw no light in sight. The shock and anger had both died out to leave behind them a twisted mixture of grief and loss that threatened to swallow him whole. His chest ached with a phantom pain akin to someone who had their heart carved out of their chest in the most brutal way possible.

Sometimes, he would awake in the middle of the night from fresh memories of a horrific day that was  _ supposed  _ to be normal. He would awake with the phantom feeling of affectionate pats on his back and motherly kisses on his cheek plaguing him as ghosts of his family swirled around his consciousness. He would awake with the feeling of adrenaline pumping in his veins and the pain of devastation and failure weighing heavily on his chest like a sack of bricks.

Every night passed with him getting less than enough sleep. Every night passed with him staring at the walls of his room with glazed eyes and ragged breathing, as memories from a time long past played behind his retinas. Every night passed with hot, sticky tears staining his cheeks and pillow as he attempted to contain his pain and horror. 

His life felt bleak and hopeless. There was no one to fill it with joy anymore; not his parents, not his siblings, and most certainly not his best friend. There was no one left for him to impress. There was no one left for him to love. There was  _ no one _ .

What was the point of anything anymore if the people that he wanted to make proud, if the people he  _ loved _ , weren't there anymore? His life purpose ('I'm gonna become the greatest supervillain anyone will ever see!') meant  _ nothing _ . 

In the end… it doesn't even  _ matter _ because the people who counted were gone forever. 

-0-

It was barely 3 weeks after the funeral when Max decided he wanted to visit his Hiddenville house. Blobbin was (naturally) surprised. After all, Max (when presented with the key to the house and told that he was the sole owner of it after the cleanup) had expressed complete disinterest in the fate of the building. He had the key, that was true, but he couldn't care less about what happened to it. 

There were days where Max wanted to go and sort through his family's belongings, but he never quite had enough courage to go through with the idea. Thinking about the house alone hurt (it caused a painful pang to go through his chest and his throat to constrict) so what would happen to him the moment he stepped in?

He guessed he'll find out in due time. 

The letter left by the villain was also delivered to him a few days ago. He didn't know what to do with it. He wanted to read it (duh, that's what you're supposed to do dumbass-) but at the same time… he felt… scared of it. 

He had admired Dark Mayhem for the longest time. The villain was among the best of the best and his penchant for destruction was legendary! He once aspired to surpass him but, somehow, he never realized what that would entail.

Dark Mayhem was a villain, yes. Only he was a murderer too. 

He never realized it, Colosso had _never told him._ Max was ignorant and **_foolish_** and he absolutely _never_ realized that in order to surpass Dark Mayhem-

He'd have to kill thousands upon thousands of innocent people. 

Max wanted to be a villain, yes. Only he never wanted to be a cold-hearted  _ murderer _ .

It was no wonder that everyone around him thought it was a phase. A mere hyper fixation on an idea that was both forbidden and untouchable. His dad had told him countless times to stop  _ pretending  _ to be a villain, and at the time, he thought the man had said it to be cruel, but now…

Now he knows better. His eyes have been peeled open in the harshest way possible and he understood the true meaning behind his father's words. Being a villain suddenly meant something completely different than before. 

It wasn't just about being evil and tormenting people. No. It was about being prepared to sacrifice your humanity and becoming a monster.

And Max? Max was never (and will never be) willing to become a monster.

-0-

It took a lot of time ('A hero never stalls Max, you should always be prepared to face the inevitable and conquer your fear!) but, in the end, he gathered his courage and read the letter. Nothing could be worse than the hell he saw in his house that day in Hiddenville (he was absolutely sure) or so he thought.

The contents of the letter itself were, by all means, completely normal. Nothing dangerous was jotted down in the simple paper, and there was absolutely no information to help tell who the sender was.

No… There was nothing dangerous. Only the insinuations each word dug into his heart.

He just couldn't get over the contents of the letter. The double meaning behind the words, the thinly veiled insinuations that littered the page, the information that was laid in plain sight for the world to see- all of it piled upon him and crushed him in a way he had never felt before.

Was he-

Was he the reason everyone died? Was it because Dark Mayhem set his sights on him? Was this- 

Was this sort of some twisted attempt at grooming?

He felt sick and he couldn't breathe no matter how hard he tried. Everything felt like it was going in slow motion and it was as though time stopped as images of his dead family replayed in his mind's eye.

Gosh- gosh he was going to be sick.

The same line repeated itself in his head over and over again like a sick mantra. A symphony of regret and horror as he realized the implications behind the words written on the letter.

_ 'I didn't think doing this was a good idea, but Dark Mayhem insisted that it will help you grow into a proper villain.' _

Dark Mayhem commanded the attack on his house. He knew that. What he didn't know was that the attack was orchestrated for the sake of molding him into a 'proper' villain.

His stomach churned violently and Max found himself flying to his feet (off his plain bed) and into the bathroom adjacent to his room. He emptied what little contents his stomach had into the toilet as tears of agony prickled at the edges of his eyes.

He couldn't- 

He couldn't-

He couldn't take this anymore.

I can't, the thought repeated itself in his head like a song on loop, I  _ can't _ .

He felt a sob tear itself out of his throat and he laid his forehead on the edge of the toilet seat in utter misery. 

He can't take this anymore. He can't. He can't. He  _ can't _ .

And it was with that desolate realization that Max Thunderman finally shattered.

-0-

“Max? A-are you ready to head out?”

Max lifted his head from his pillow and blinked. His eyes skirted over to the clock on the right wall of his room and the boy found himself frowning. Barely an hour passed since he read the letter but, to him, it felt like an eternity had passed. He felt awful, more awful than he had ever felt, and was seriously considering staying at the mansion and leaving the house visit for another day.

“Max?” Blobbin’s voice echoed hesitantly in the (almost) bare room.

Max rubbed his eyes tiredly and forced himself to his feet. Every muscle in his body ached in protest and he could feel his Thundersense blaring at the edges of his subconscious. He ignored the bad feeling in his body in favor of responding to Blobbin.

“Yeah. I-” Max licked his lips as his voice threatened to crack with the intensity of his decision, “I’m ready.”

Blobbin frowned worriedly, “Are you sure? We can always go on another day.”

Max pursed his lips and bowed his head. It was tempting, really, it was, but he had already made up his mind (and Max Thunderman was nothing if not stubborn), “Nah, I want to go today.” the boy mumbled quietly, “Besides, I might chicken out if we schedule it for later.” Max admitted, shrugging as he made his way over to Blobbin.

Blobbin looked at him with concern for a moment, “Alright then,” The man muttered resignedly, “If you say so.” 

Max pursed his lips and shoved his sweaty hands into his jacket’s (incidentally the same jacket he wore on that day) pockets. Visiting his house would not be pleasant if the loud blaring of sirens in the back of his head was any indication.

-0-

Max blinked sluggishly as he took in the sight of his Hiddenville house. Outwardly, the house looked pretty normal. Perfect white paint, a somewhat maintained lawn, shiny windows, etc… Everything was in order and, had he not known any better, Max would have never thought that anything as dark as a… as a massacre went on in here.

The boy felt anxiety churning in his gut as he took shaky steps forward. Internally, he knew that he shouldn't be feeling this way, but he couldn't help it. Bad memories were springing up unbidden from where he had (figuratively) shoved them in his mind and he couldn't stop the almost violent trembling in his right hand as he tried to insert the key into the lock on the front door.

Of course, his hand was shaking too badly and, as such, he kept missing his mark. Grunting in frustration, the boy took a deep breath to steady his nerves and fought the urge to toss the key into the bushes out of pure anger. 

Blobbin, who was standing right behind Max at a respectable distance, cautiously approached the irritated teen and held his arm, "M-maybe I should do it?" The man stated hesitantly.

Max exhaled through his nose and nodded, handing over the little key to Blobbin. The 15-year-old took a step back and bowed his head. Being here was really getting to him if the tears that sprung up at the corner of his eyes were any indication. He felt hopelessly lost as his emotions warred in his belly. 

"Max?" 

Max snapped his head up as he blinked the tears away. Blobbin had already opened the door and was fidgeting nervously in front of the open entrance. 

The boy felt his hands shake a bit more violently now that the door was open but cleverly disguised it by shoving his hands inside his pockets. He shakily took a few steps forward and paused next to Blobbin, "Y'know," Max started quietly as he took a look inside the dim house, "You don't have to enter if you don't want to."

Max felt Blobbin relax slightly next to him, "Are you sure? You don't want me to come?" The man asked, trying to mask the slight tinge of hope in his tone.

Max felt something dark settle inside his abdomen as his eyes tracked the dim entrance of the house, "Yeah. I'll be fine on my own." He mumbled distractedly as his Thundersense screamed at him to turn away quickly.

Blobbin completely relaxed and started inching his way towards the car (limousine), "If you say so," The former sidekick mumbled in obvious relief.

Max waited until he heard the tell-tale bang of the car door closing and then entered the building. The atmosphere inside the house had a slightly musty feeling to it and Max couldn't help but frown at the overwhelming smell of dust and slight decay that dominated the entrance.

Quickly switching the lights open with his telekinesis, Max shut the front door with his foot and stepped forward. He looked around the house as an overwhelming and slightly painful feeling of nostalgia threatened to swallow him whole. 

Max gulped slightly as nostalgia exchanged places with dread the moment he stepped into the living room. Horrific images of his dead family were suddenly all he could see as he gazed upon the area where his mother and father once lied. __

He felt a strange noise tear its way out of his chest as he took a step backward in alarm, the sight of the dead bodies proving too much for him to handle once more before reality managed to bleed through the  _ images _ his mind had concocted. 

Max panted as both anxiety and terror clawed at his gut. His heart jumped to his throat and all he could hear was the violent pounding of his heart. 

Max felt tears prickle at his eyes as he remained rooted to his spot in the living room. What was he  _ thinking _ ? Coming here so soon- he wasn't ready (nor will he ever be)! The 15-year-old boy covered his face as he felt all his strength and resolve leave him. 

Blindly, almost in a trance, Max forced himself away from the living room and made his way to his lair. He couldn't deal with this, not now, so maybe a place of solitude was all he needed (or so he told himself anyway). 

The boy shakily went down the stairs (the slide felt too distasteful by now) as he attempted to calm down. Anxiety and something darker than he could have anticipated both clawed at his mind like a hungry pack of wolves would a prey and Max suddenly felt trapped inside his own body. 

He wanted out. Out of this, out of everything, he wanted out out out out outoutout _ out! _

Max felt himself hyperventilate as he took in his surroundings. Nothing in his lair was actually touched. Everything remained in the same place. Old experiments, pieces of unfinished gadgets, his monitor, Dr. Colosso's cage, everything.

That should have given him some form of comfort, knowing that his safest place in the world remained untouched. It didn't. 

Max felt pain and a horrible sense of nostalgia and deja-vu attack him with vigor as the normalcy the room provided clashed heavily with the circumstances of his visit. His mind went on overdrive as it searched for an escape, anything to help him let the pain out, and the boy found himself frantically pacing around the room in a panic as his throat clogged and his vision began to go dark at the edges. 

And then it caught his eye. A big familiar blue button that he personally designed a few weeks ago. He remembered the circumstances behind the destruction of the first such button and felt his insides go cold with terror and anticipation.

He tried to not think about it, he did, but the dark seed had already been planted in his mind and was quickly corrupting it against his wishes. The boy gulped silently as dark thoughts and possibilities began to cloud his judgement and before he knew it, he found himself pressing on the button.

Max's insides, still feeling frigid with anxiety, terror, and anticipation, twisted and churned in a twisted parody of something dying and writhing. He felt the cold metal of the table on which the button was on start to go warm under his sweaty hands. 

The boy stepped back slowly until his back hit a wall and slid down. He felt all fight and fear and regret bleed from his body as his mind recognized the inevitable end. Trying to find comfort in his last moments, Max shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. Feeling something soft and sharp brush against his left hand, the boy carefully curled his fingers around it and pulled it out of his pocket to carefully examine it.

Feeling his eyes widening, Max carefully read the slight paper in his grasp and felt his hand began to fist around it as a fresh wave of grief and guilt hit his chest. He was right, he didn't remember the slip his stupid English teacher gave him. Not until it was too late.

Sobs began to tear out of the teen's chest as he finally allowed himself to grief one more time before the countdown to the self-destruction of his lair began, bearing its ominous promise of doom. He brought his fisted left hand to his forehead as tears flowed freely down his face and sorrow permanently stained his soul.

He barely heard the final number being uttered before his senses were captivated in a white-hot blaze of brief agony and then the nothingness of death. 

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked this chapter! 'At The End' by 'Linkin Park' is totally what this chapter is about. I hope you liked it, I busted my sleep schedule over this.
> 
> Welp, I'm gonna disappear now. See ya.
> 
> EDIT 02/7/2020: Again, thank you all so much for your support, it truly means so much to me! This fic was an insane journey that I'm glad I managed to finish and I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> That said, thank you so much for reading and commenting and I hope we meet again in a different work! 
> 
> See ya!
> 
> JH.exe is officially out!
> 
> (P.S: You can find my Thundermans themed Tumblr blog on here: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/just-another-thundermans-blog )

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, thanks for reading Part 1! I hope you liked this, well as much as you can like hardcore angst and death, but oh well! 
> 
> Part 2 will be dealing with the after-effects of this incident, the trauma, and the grief! Hopefully, I manage to portray it all correctly. 
> 
> I also would like to apologize for the punctuation, I simply don't know where to put all the commas-
> 
> Well, I guess that's all for now! See you later!


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